Of Midgets, Pigeons, Pandas, & Random Facts
by confessions.of.katijane
Summary: Katie Bell has a propensity to spout off random facts, the names of various animals, & has an irrational fear of midgets, but Fred Weasley still has a question he wants to ask her.  FRATIE.


**A/N: This was my attempt at writing a dialogue based fic, which I've always wanted to do. And, as it was written at around 2 in the morning, it's not **_**completely**_** wonderful, but it's Fratie, so who can really complain, eh? And please, please, PLEASE for the love of everything holy…REVIEW!!**

"Katie, I've got a sort of question to ask you."

"A sort of question? Would that be something phrased as a question that you already know the answer to, or--?"

"Don't get smart with me, Bell. I'm being serious here."

"You're never serious, Fred. Come on, I've known you for twelve years now. I've learned that."

"Well, right now I am."

"Okay. Go ahead and enthrall me with your intense, serious disposition."

"Sod off, Katie, I'm trying to talk to you here."

"You're going to try and talk to someone who you've just told to sod off? Sorry, mate, but I see a bit of a problem with that scenario."

"Okay, don't sod off then. But quit being a prick."

"I'm no prick. You're the prick. You asked three girls to Hogsmeade on one weekend, remember?"

"You're right, those were _definitely_ the days…"

"Oh, sod off."

"I would, but I still haven't asked you my question, Kates."

"Well, get out with it, then."

"I'm trying, you're just making it difficult. You do know that you have the world's largest mouth, don't you?"

"You know, I really can't stand to look at midgets…"

"As well as the world's _smallest_ attention span. Come on, Kates, focus with me."

"No, really, Fred. I know it's awful to say it, but I'm convinced that the reason Charms is my lowest mark is because I have trouble looking at Flitwick…"

"You know, you'd better be careful with those words, Bell. Last time I checked you stood at five foot two."

"You know how tall I am? Stalker."

"Not exactly. But that does bring me back to my question."

"You and your stupid question. Just spit it out already. Mind the spray, though. Last time you were excited about something, I had to borrow Ange's dinner napkin to get my face dry again. You're disgusting sometimes."

"That's the _biggest_ exaggeration I've heard in my life."

"Even so, you have quite the build up of saliva. Speaking of, did you ever hear that dogs' mouths were cleaner than humans'?"

"Did you ever hear that small girls who talk too much have a fifty percent higher risk of ending up in a ditch with rabies?"

"Where'd you read that, Fred? Because I've never heard anything remotely close to—_Hey_! Was that an attack on my intelligence?"

"If it was, would you be quick enough to spot it?"

"You're the world's biggest arse, you know that?"

"I hold the title with the greatest honor, I assure you."

"So what were you going to ask me, Fred?"

"Well. I guess I should probably do some confessing before I ask it."

"Confessing? Like what? Are you finally going to admit that it was your fault we got detention for hexing Marcus Flint into dating Warrington?"

"Absolutely not. The homosexuality was your idea entirely."

"That's such a lie. Anyway, it was your fault we got caught."

"I'm never admitting to that."

"So clearly that's not what you want to confess to, then. Well, what is it?"

"Well, it's about this midget—"

"I _hate_ midgets."

"Yeah, I know. You've discussed your irrational hatred of midgets thoroughly this evening."

"Two sentences is hardly thorough, Fred. Although, I suppose for you and your school work—"

"Are you going to let me finish?"

"Oh, I suppose so."

"Anyway, there's this midget—and I know I've been totally against any kind of relationship that wasn't open…"

"Yeah, you great prick."

"Would you please shut your trap for ten seconds?!"

"I suppose I could try."

"Good. Continuing on, I've always been somewhat of a—okay, a _prick_—when it came to romance, but this midget has been steadily making me want to reconsider that for about the past—oh—twelve years, I'd say…"

"PIGEON!"

"Bloody hell, Katie, what was_ that_?!"

"Your ten seconds was up."

"And that's the word you came up with. Pigeon."

"Absolutely, it was."

"You're pathetic."

"Not as pathetic as you are. You've liked some badly shaped midget for the past twelve years."

"So you have been listening. Good job. I was beginning to take you for a goldfish instead of my best mate."

"Oh, ha ha."

"Anyway, back to this midget. I've fallen in love with her against my will, and even her perpetually smelly feet haven't been able to sway me in my decision to tell her the truth."

"She has smelly feet!? That's disgusting, Fred. Ditch her now."

"Right. You're not shallow at _all_."

"Well come on, Freddie. Think about how it looks from an outside perspective. You're telling me you've fallen in love with a midget who has perpetually odiferous feet. That's pretty disgusting."

"Yeah, and you haven't even heard the worst of it yet."

"What? She likes you back? Ha ha ha ha—"

"Very funny, Kates."

"I try."

"No, what's worse is that she's thicker than Gregory Goyle's backside. I mean, she's ridiculously inattentive, she can't remember anything, and every time you try to talk to her she interrupts you with an annoyingly random fact about something you're not likely to ever care about in your life."

"She sounds like a total loser, mate. Steer clear, like I told you before. Head for open waters."

"Well, I would, but like I told you, I've already made up my mind to confess to her and then ask her to be my girlfriend."

"So what are you wasting your time here for?"

"How thick are you, Bell?"

"Oh, I don't know, I suppose you could measure, but---_oh_."

"Yeah, oh."

"Oh."

"Well…"

"I cannot _believe_ you just called me a midget with smelly feet and ADD!"

"After that whole conversation, that's what you're most concerned with?"

"Absolutely. I'm not going to stand for it."

"Wouldn't really matter much if you did. You're a midget, remember? You'll escape the notice of anyone you try to impress."

"You are the devil, Fred Weasley."

"Even so, Kates, even the devil's got to have someone to love. So….back to my question that began this rather unconventional conversation."

"I expect that you're thinking I'm just going to let you ask it, then?"

"Well, given all that I know about you, no. What I expect is that I'll try to ask it and then you'll interrupt me with some pointless comment on the price of beets or—"

"…"

"Or you'll just randomly kiss me."

"…"

"Yeah, it was definitely the latter."

"Fred, did you know that French kissing for ten minutes burns 248 calories?"

"Katie, did you know that you're going to agree to be my girlfriend in about seven seconds?"

"Now that, I _definitely_ know that you didn't read anywhere because—"

"PANDA!"

"Excuse me?"

"Your seven seconds are up. Katie Bell, will you be my girlfriend?"

"Well, I'm not sure. I mean, I obviously like you, but your average girlfriend lasts about 4.5 days and I'm not sure that I want to be—"

"Trust me on this one, Kates. You're _definitely_ different from those girls."

"I am?"

"Oh yes. In more ways than one."

"Well then I guess I'll be your girlfriend."

"You see? I was right."

"Not entirely. You said I'd agree in seven seconds, and that was more like nineteen, which also happens to be the number of the month of October in the Roman calendar of—"

"…"

"Wow, what was I saying?"

"I told you. Shortest attention span ever."


End file.
